


Hot for Teacher

by arosynose



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: AU, Alex can be a dick but so can Hank, College AU, M/M, because I can/will never write smut, nerdy love, rated for language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-23
Updated: 2012-05-23
Packaged: 2017-11-05 20:42:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/410820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arosynose/pseuds/arosynose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alex needs to pass Pre-Calc if he doesn't want to flunk out of college. Unfortunately, his professor is a total dick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hot for Teacher

**Author's Note:**

> An old fill I wrote for the X-Men: FC kink meme over on lj. Thought I may as well cross-post on here, too.

Alex has never been the smartest guy. He knows this, he’s okay with this, and quite honestly he doesn’t care anymore. Much.

He can be a hard worker when he wants to be, and for the most part grad school has gone just fine. He is, at the very least, passing every course.

Every course except his stupid fucking _required_ math course. Because apparently working his ass off to get through algebra 2 wasn’t enough and the university wanted him to know pre-calculus. Alex had thought he hated math before, but _this—this_ takes it to a whole other level. He hates precalc. He hates it with every fiber of his being. He _loathe_ s it. Nothing makes sense anymore, nothing that’s written on the board or “explained” for him to understand. It doesn’t help that the professor obviously hates teaching the class, too, and doesn’t make any attempt to slow down his breakneck teaching pace. Like he can’t stand that not everyone is as much of a _genius_ as he is. Alex—and everyone else—calls the professor “the Beast” behind his back, because “dick” and “asshole” somehow weren’t enough.

Needless to say, Alex is failing, and that freaks him the fuck out. It was hard enough just _getting the fuck in_ thanks to his criminal record. And student loans will be hard enough to pay off without flunking out sans a degree. So no, he _won’t_ fail the course. He’ll do anything to keep that from happening.

Anything.

It’s this attitude that brings him to his professor’s office, just before Professor McCoy leaves for the day. It’s this attitude that brings him to sit in the chair across from his professor— _Beast_ —and sit sprawled out, hands on his thighs in a clear invitation. It’s this attitude, when the Beast finally looks up, that makes him grin and lick his lips. 

He ignores the nonplussed look on the professor’s face and continues with the plan.

“Hey,” he says, pitching his voice just a little low and a tiny bit gravelly. “I thought I’d stop by and talk to you about the class.”

“And you are…?”

Alex’s smirk doesn’t waver. _Beast._ “Alex Summers. I’m in your Pre-Calculus class.”

“Ah.” The Beast certainly seems to recognize the name. “And you’re here because…?”

“As you probably already know, I’m failing the class.” No use beating around the bush. Especially when nothing so far has garnered any reaction. “I’d like to propose a plan to change this.”

“I recommend studying.”

“Not quite what I had in mind,” Alex says smoothly. “I was thinking something more… _interpersonal._ ” He tips his head forward.

“There’s a student tutoring program.”

“…I meant between you and I.”

“I don’t tutor students.”

He stands and makes his way over to the professor, who’s eyeing him coolly. “I need to pass this class, Professor. And I’m willing to do _anything_ ,” he says, lowering his eyelids to half-mast and leaning in to rest his hands on the armrests to the professor’s chair, boxing him in, “to keep from flunking out.”

Professor McCoy sighs and turns his attention back to his paperwork, which he begins to put into a briefcase. “If you’re serious about passing, meet me in the library Friday night at 7.”

Alex winces internally, because that’s when he usually goes to the bar, but he _needs_ this. “Friday at 7. Great.” He forces on his most seductive smile. “See you then, _professor_ ,” he drawls, letting the word roll off his tongue.

Alex makes sure to use the strut that usually draws eyes to his hips, but the shuffling and filing of paper in the office doesn’t so much as slow down.

 

*

 

At 7 on a Friday, the library is like a ghost town, empty save for a few lost souls. Anyone who’s anyone is out partying, and anyone who’s anyone else is hanging out with friends or sleeping or catching a movie or on a date.

It sickens Alex just a little to think that _this_ is what he's doing on a Saturday night, and he tries to ignore the thought as he picks a table near the entrance and waits.

It doesn’t take long. Soon enough his uptight dick of a professor steps in the door, does a brief scan of the library, and—and does a fucking _double-take_ when he sees Alex.

…The Beast hadn’t even expected him to show.

Alex clenches his teeth and smiles when the man approaches, still in his professorly— _douchebag-screaming_ —attire. Alex bets he wears that shit all the time. He catches himself starting to dig his fingers into the table and has to force himself to relax to shake his professor’s hand.

Alex Summers does _not_ give up that easily.

“I’m looking forward to ah, _learning_ from you, _professor_.”

The man seems to almost sigh as he sits across from Alex. “Alright…”

“Alex,” he supplies, extending his foot under the table to brush against his professor’s.

“ _Summers_ ,” the man says icily, moving his leg away. “Let’s begin.”

 

*

 

One week and a tutoring session and a half later, Alex is convinced the man is actually some kind of devil, hang the Beast. He’s condescending and has a stick up his ass a mile long and whenever Alex doesn’t understand something he does this sort of inaudible _sigh_ like Alex is wasting his time.

 _Hey, bub, if you wanted to wanted to you could’ve just fucked me and saved us all some time and a hell of a lot of pain,_ Alex wants to snarl. But he doesn’t, because the Beast is his professor, and students who disrespect their professors generally do not pass said professors’ classes.

And Alex is _not_ going to fail. Even if his seduction techniques are all proving absolutely useless against this guy. Even if this guy is a fucking _monster_ and he doesn’t know if he can stand two more seconds with him.

And then the Beast’s phone rings. It plays out a lovely rendition of _Sexy Bitch_ for about 30 seconds while a stunningly awkward Beast fumbles getting the phone out of his pocket and suddenly all Alex can concentrate on is the amazing red blush that blooms across his professor’s face as he holds the phone up to his ear with one hand and tugs at his now-rumpled hair with the other and looks anywhere but Alex.

“ _Raven!_ ” he hisses into the phone, still a bright shade of red. “I thought I told you not to mess with my phone!”

…Raven?

A _chick?_

Somehow this—and that fucking blush—changes everything. The Beast is no longer some nerdy, antisocial professor but a _guy_ who knows a _girl._ A girl named _Raven._ Girls named Raven are not, in Alex’s experience, nerdy or dorky or geeky or anything that would relate them to a guy like _this._

“I’m in the library, tutoring!”

His eyes flicker to Alex’s for a second, and something flips in Alex’s stomach. The Beast is blushing, and pouting into the phone, and his hair is falling over his forehead, and _damn_ he looks—

NO. NO. Alex has to resist physically punching himself in the face. This is so wrong. The Beast isn’t supposed to be attractive, in any sense of the word.

_Snap out of it._

“No, it’s not like that,” the Beast snarls desperately into the phone, and Alex suddenly very much wants to hear what the entire conversation sounds like. He wants to know how to make his professor, the Beast, sound like _that._

He wants to make him come undone.

“Ugh, what point are you— _I’m in a library! No!_ Look, why don’t you just go find Az. I’m sure he’d love your company. Good _bye._ ”

Finally, the Beast snaps his phone shut and turns back to Alex, expression still a little angry. And dammit, that should not be hot.

“Raven?” Alex asks, quirking a brow.

“She’s a friend,” the professor mutters, looking down at the paper between them. 

“And Az?”

“Another friend. If you want to keep studying, I’ll stay. If you want to keep asking personal questions, I have other things I could be doing.”

“No, no,” Alex says, quickly. Too quickly, maybe. “I want to keep studying. Sorry.”

Alex spends the remaining half-hour of their study period puzzling over polar equations and wondering when his professor turned into an actual human being.

Before they part ways, Alex manages to weasel a phone number out of the Beast (“so I can call you if I need to cancel or something”) and goes back to his dorm with the promise of another study session next Friday night.

 

*

 

The lecture that week is both more fun and more upsetting than any previous lecture, because while Alex can now revel in the realization that his professor has a remarkable ass, he is also horrified and confused by said revelation. Professors, especially male professors, are not supposed to have amazing asses, Alex’s bisexuality be damned.

There’s a quiz at the end of the period, and Alex actually recognizes a few things from their study session.

He’s hiding a shit-eating grin when he goes to hand in his paper.

 

*

 

The next study session starts more smoothly. Alex is the second one there this time, but he’s only a minute late.

“How was your weekend?” he asks casually, then wants to smack himself, because _seriously? How was your_ weekend?

“Fine,” the Beast says stiffly. “Now if we can please stick to your studying.”

“Sure, sure,” Alex says, spreading his hands. No need to invoke hostility. He actually does want to learn, not just press his professor’s buttons. No matter how tempting it may be to get the Beast all riled up and red-faced like he’d been last time.

It’s still polar equations, because damn if they aren’t the most idiotic things to ever cross Alex’s path. No matter what he does, he can’t get them right. And it’s driving him nuts.

The Beast is still sighing to himself whenever Alex doesn’t understand something, and Alex doesn’t care how hot the man can be when he’s worked up, this bullshittery has to _stop_. It just makes no sense. He’s spent the better part of his math-learning life working with square graphs, ones with an x-axis and a y-axis, and even that had taken him longer than all the other kids in his class to understand.

He’s frustrated, and Alex plus frustration to the power of the Beast being a douchebag equals mad Alex, which, according to the previously-illustrated Juvenile Delinquency proof, is equivalent to a fresh mark on his criminal record.

…Fuck, he’s even _thinking_ in math now.

“Stop,” he groans out, leaning back and rubbing a hand over his eyes. “We need to stop. I need a…like a five-minute break.”

When he rights his chair and uncovers his eyes, the Beast is packing his bag.

“Whoa, hold on!” Alex says quickly. He splays his arms over the remaining papers and books. “What are you doing?”

The Beast moves Alex’s arms aside with surprising strength and he collects the rest of his things, then gets up to go. “I’m leaving,” he says, in that icy, I’m-wasting-my-time tone of his, and the frustration and anger that Alex has been suppressing bubble closer to the surface.

“ _What._ ” Alex grinds out. “You’re _leaving_. Because I said I needed a break.”

“Yes. If you don’t want to focus, I don’t see why I should—”

“Oh, man.” Alex laughs dangerously. “You’ve got your panties in a wad because _I don’t want to focus?_ ”

The Beast’s eyes narrow even further at this, and the anger in Alex swells. He’s starting to forget why he cares about keeping it suppressed in the face of this asshat.

“Don’t even start with me,” Alex growls. “The reason I want to take a _break_ is so I can calm down and start again, when I don’t feel like punching you in the throat.” His voice is quickly rising to a level that’s hardly library-appropriate, but he’s too wound up to care, much less stop. “Don’t give me that look. You’re too wrapped up in all your pretentious holier-than-thou genius _bullshit_ to see that your whole class hates you, and that over 85% of it is failing because _you suck at teaching._ ” A librarian is starting to approach them, but Alex plows on. “I’m sorry if I’m not smart enough for you, but I am _not_ going to flunk out of college. Do you even _know_ how hard it was to get into even one fucking university? When you have a criminal record getting a college degree is hardly a walk in the park, especially if you’re a retard on top of that like me. I can’t believe you’re a teacher at all, with the way you hate doing it. You obviously don’t care about your students and whether they’re learning. All you care about is that it’s an inconvenience to you that we’re not smart enough!”

The librarian is on them now, hands fluttering around Alex and trying to get a word in edgewise, distressed. He can’t find it in himself to care. This needs to be said, and he’s going to say it.

“I’m sorry that I’m not a genius like you. I’m sorry you feel the need to condescend to me because of what was probably a crappy childhood of being bullied because you’re nerdy as hell and have a stick up your ass that could reach up to the moon, but _fuck you_ if you think you can treat me like shit because I’m not as smart as you. What the fuck have I ever done to you, huh? _Get over yourself._ ”

He snatches up his own books, shoves them into his beat-up bookbag, and storms out of the library.

 

*

 

Five hours later and his little tantrum is looking like less and less of as good an idea as it seemed at the time.

“What the fuck was I thinking?” he moans, slamming a pillow over his face and feeling more stupid than usual.

“Something dumb,” his roommate intones, looking at pictures of the party he’d gone to the previous night.

“I’m never going to pass now,” Alex says into the pillow.

“What?”

“I said,” Alex removes the pillow from his face, “there’s no way I’ll pass now.”

“Oh. Yeah. You really kind of screwed yourself over there.”

“Oh, come on, Sean. You’ve gotta have more than that to say.”

“Nope. I got nothing. …Hey, check out Raven’s tits! I swear that girl must’ve gotten plastic surgery for them to be so perfect.”

“…Wait.” Alex is already over at the computer, peering over Sean’s shoulder. “Raven?”

“Yeah, you know. Girl with the yellow eyes? Calls herself ‘Mystique’?”

Alex stares at the picture. And stares and stares. His attention isn’t even on her chest—which the skimpy bikini does absolutely nothing to hide—it’s on her face. Because this girl is Raven, and Raven is a ‘friend’ of the Beast. Raven is the one who messes with his phone and installs embarrassing ringtones and gets him to make that _face_.

“This is from a party you went to?” he asks, and Sean shrugs.

“I think so,” he says. “I hopped around though. Y’know, like a flirty hummingbird.”

“Ugh. Don’t put images like than in my head, man. Besides, you’d be some horrible squawking wailing, like, thing, or something. Not a cute little hummingbird. Do they even make noise?”

Sean shrugs and moves on to more pictures of Raven and her I-can’t-believe-they’re-real tits.

Alex isn’t even looking at the screen anymore. The gears in his head are turning.

“You still looking at Raven?”

“No. Thinking.”

“Mm. Dangerous pastime. Especially for you.”

“Oh, shut up.” Alex smacks his younger roommate on the head and retreats to his bunk to think some more, mostly about what his next move should be regarding the Beast.

It’s true Alex feels a little bad for yelling at him so much, but the guy was deserving of at least a large part of that and he’d been long overdue for an attitude readjustment. Alex just hopes he can find another tutor in time to pass the class.

 

*

 

Alex has to remind himself that he’s mad at the Beast during the next lecture when his professor drops his dry-erase marker and has to bend over to pick it up, and Alex’s mouth waters despite himself.

He hates himself for noticing how the Beast shifts his weight and ends up emphasizing the curve of his hip, how his voice is hypnotic when he talks about conic sections and Archimedean spirals, and how fucking _huge_ the Beast’s hands are—and his _feet_ , oh god think of the size of his…

Alex curses himself when the bell rings and he realizes he hasn’t processed or taken notes on a single word that’s left the Beast’s mouth, other than that one time he said ‘counterclockwise’ and to Alex’s ears it had sounded nearly pornographic.

Alex is definitely going to fail this class.

 

*

 

As it turns out, he’s waited too long to get in the student tutoring program, and there’re no more slots available. Thanks to his lack of funds, he’s incapable of dishing out the high rates that freelance tutors require, and so he’s left with only one option.

God, he hates groveling. And he probably won’t even get the chance to suck a certain someone off, which normally would’ve been the only good thing to come out of it.

He’s mere feet away from his professor’s office when his phone heralds the arrival of a text. Alex can’t help but growl at his phone as he flips it open to read whatever asinine message Sean has typed out in a drunken haze. 

It’s not from Sean.

It’s from _the Beast._

 _I’m sorry. Meet me at the usual time and place if you still want someone to tutor you.  
_  
Alex has to read the message over three times, close it, pinch himself, and open it again just to make sure he’s not dreaming. But no, it’s still there, and he apparently really does have a date with destiny.

He smacks himself in the head as he walks back to the dorm just to make sure his brain understands that this really _isn’t_ a date.

 

*

 

He shows up a few minutes early—but really not because he’s looking forward to their meeting, or anything—and is stunned to see that the Beast is already there. But not happy. No, not happy, definitely not, because that would mean he _wants_ to see his professor. Definitely not happy.

Alex sits down across from the Beast and they’re locked into a stare down until the Beast breaks it.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and it’s half-sigh. But hey, Alex will take whatever he can get. “I didn’t mean to—I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well,” Alex grumps, trying not to betray how relieved he is, and how weird and flip-floppy he feels whenever he remembers that the Beast is basically his age. “I shouldn’t’ve yelled at you so much. In a library.”

Neither of them says anything for a while, just testing the air.

“So,” Alex says eventually. “Tutoring?”

“Er, yeah. Right.” The Beast adjusts his glasses with one long finger, and for just a second Alex thinks about sucking on it. And then he takes a deep breath and focuses on the math.

Half an hour in and the Beast’s phone trumpets out a jubilant opening to _Feva For the Flava_ and his face turns that glorious shade of scarlet again. It makes his blue blue eyes stand out that much more.

Alex feels like he’s choking.

“ _Raven!_ ” the Beast hisses. “ _No! Not now!_ ” Raven must say something particularly embarrassing on the other end, because the Beast’s face gets impossibly redder. “ _No!_ Now _leave me alone,_ ” he growls, and Alex desperately pretends that that voice didn’t just shoot straight to his—

“Sorry,” the Beast mutters. “Raven likes teasing me.” Suddenly he stiffens and glances up at Alex. Like he’s afraid he’s done something wrong. Like he expects some kind of physical punishment.

“’She that chick who calls herself ‘Mystique’?” Alex asks, instead, unsettled again by the lack of age difference. In a different life, they could’ve gone to school together.

…Fuck, what is he thinking? ‘ _Gone to school together?_ ’ The inherent, insidious sappiness of Alex’s own thoughts makes him gag. He’s not made for this, this crushing business, if whatever _this_ is can even be called that. Alex is much better off as the guy who makes out with everyone at parties and has a great time without committing to anyone he wakes up with in the morning. He’s not good with _relationships._

“Yeah,” the Beast nods. He keeps glancing at Alex. “Look, I really am sorry. I’m just…I’m not good with people. Especially not…”

“Guys like me,” Alex says, because he has to. Because the Beast won’t, even if it’s what he means. And Alex needs the truth.

The Beast doesn’t say anything, and Alex tries not to be disappointed.

“Why?” he asks simply.

The Beast gets uncomfortable and looks away. “It’s just—I was—I was never the most…I was picked on a lot as a kid. Mostly because I skipped most of the grades and flew through college when I was still in my teens.”

Alex can understand why. He kind of wants to punch his professor himself, actually, for being so fucking infuriatingly smart. And maybe, in another lifetime, he would’ve.

The rest of the session goes remarkably well, and Alex risks a backwards glance at his professor’s ass as they part ways.

 

*

 

Alex swears he’s not imagining it when the next pre-calculus lecture seems less rushed than usual, and he has proof when the Beast actually turns around and asks if anyone has any questions. He’s never done that before.

There’s an awkward pause as the class tries to figure out if they’re just being condescended to again or if he’s actually being serious, and the Beast is kind of hesitating and looks uncomfortable and—fuck it. Alex takes up the gauntlet.

He raises a hand, and it’s not shaking, there’s _no way_ it’s shaking.

“Can you explain the thing about r0sec(θ-φ ) again? I don’t get why you used it to solve for phi.”

It’s like the whole room lets out a huge sigh of relief as the professor nods and turns back to the board to explain. It turns out Alex isn’t the only one with questions, and a few more students find it in themselves to ask before the lecture’s over.

Alex catches the Beast’s eye as he files out of the classroom along with the rest of the class and gives his professor a jaunty wink.

He turns away fast enough to avoid seeing the other man’s expression.

 

*

 

Their next session goes from normal to something else when the Beast says “Well, it looks like we’ve finished the chapter early,” and Alex just stares dumbly at him.

“Wait, what? You mean that’s it?”

The Beast smiles. It’s frighteningly adorable. “Yep. That’s it.” He glances up at the clock. “And there’s still over an hour left to go.”

“That’s it. We’re done. There’s nothing else to go over.”

“Nope. I’m pretty confident you have it all down.” He closes the book and rises to go.

And Alex panics. “Wait!”

The Beast turns back to him, surprised. “What?”

“Um. Maybe we could get a start on the next chapter?”

The Beast’s eyebrows knot together and his head tips just slightly and that confused expression is somehow even more unbearably cute than his smile. 

Alex wants to see it again. And again. Over and over until he’s sick of it. And he’s pretty sure he’ll never be.

Christ, he’s starting to scare himself.

“You’ve already finished _this_ chapter ahead of schedule. We won’t be moving on to the next chapter for another week at the very least. Quite frankly, I don’t think you even need my help anymore. All you need is to focus.”

It’s like a punch to the gut when the Beast turns to go again. 

“No,” Alex says. “I’ve tried to understand math before on my own. They even assigned me a special helper in junior high, and that didn’t work. I just don’t get math. Except…Except for when you teach it to me like this. I don’t know why, but…Stay, please?”

The Beast is staring at him openly, eyes tracing his face as if trying to find some trace of deception, some crack in what could be a façade. Finally, he relents.

“Fine,” the Beast says with one of those inaudible sighs, and Alex doesn’t mind it so much now because of the way the Beast’s lips part to let it through. “Let’s have at it.”

“Yes, let’s,” Alex says before he can stop himself.

The wry smirk he gets in return is hardly what he’s expecting, and for a single moment he can’t breathe.

“Open your textbook to page 522,” the Beast says, and as Alex distractedly opens his book he thinks he could learn to love math.

 

*

 

It isn’t long before the tutoring sessions are the highlight of Alex’s week. When invited to parties, he gives a grunt and a shrug, but no verbal excuse. He simply doesn’t show up, and then the invitations start to dwindle. They stop altogether when it’s three months into the tutoring sessions.

Alex feels like he’s drowning.

It’s killing him, being this close to the Beast and unable to make any advances. For once, he’s playing it safe, and it’s only because total rejection is assured if he risks it.

It’s scary, being like this. Being entranced by the way the other man’s hands sweep gracefully to smooth pages and write out equations, hanging on every word that comes out of his mouth.

Alex wants to see that mouth from above as it wraps around his dick.

Instead, he memorizes functions and properties and aces every quiz and test that comes his way. He’d be happy if it weren’t for the fact that he’d throw it all away for _one fucking night_ with his goddamn professor. His goddamn _sexy as fuck_ professor.

He’s sure he’s going to lose his mind before the end of the year and end up sticking horn-rimmed glasses on a blow-up doll and fucking that. He’s already seriously contemplating it. Suffering from a continuous case of blue balls is already taking its toll, and no one seems to catch his eye anymore unless they’re freakishly tall and wearing a button-down and horn-rimmed glasses.

Yeah, the blow-up doll is looking pretty fucking good right about now.

 

*

 

He stalks into the library one evening in February feeling particularly frustrated and is greeted with the sight of his professor sitting at their usual table, red-faced and fiddling with the strap of his bag.

He looks so…

_fuckable_

…flustered. His right hand keeps swooping up to run through his hair, only succeeding in making it more messy, and his eyes continually dart from the table to his bag.

Alex carefully slides into the seat across from him, scared the Beast will bolt.

“Hey,” he says, and the Beast jumps a foot in the air and turns even redder.

“Oh, er, you’re here,” he says. “Better, um, get started.”

Alex nods slowly, still speculatively eyeing the man opposite him.

The Beast calms down a bit as they get deeper into the material, but as the last half-hour of their session ticks by his eyes are more on the clock than they are on the paper he writes on, and he gets redder and sweatier until the clock chimes 9 o’clock. Alex wonders idly if that’s what he looks like in bed.

The Beast is out of his seat before the clock has even hit its third chime, and Alex takes his time collecting his papers while the Beast fidgets with his book bag.

“Same time next week?” Alex asks, finally rising from his seat. If the Beast doesn’t want to talk about whatever’s wrong, Alex won’t pry.

“Oh, um, actually I was going to ask if Saturday mornings would be alright.”

Alex freezes. “What?”

“I have to start some lab work, and Friday nights are the only time the lab will be open for me to use. So I was hoping we could switch to Saturday mornings.”

“The library’s closed on Saturday mornings.”

The Beast nodded. “I know. But I was thinking…we could have the study sessions at a café, or something?”

Alex’s brain struggles to process this as something other than a date. “Saturday mornings. At a café. …okay. Just, um, text me the time and place, I guess.”

The Beast nods again, and Alex turns to go but there’s a hand on his shoulder, big and warm. He turns around again and he’s drowning in blue eyes.

“I—I have something for you. I mean, it’s not like—It’s not like, because this is Valentine’s Day or anything—” Fuck, was today Valentine’s Day? Shit. “—but, I mean, you’ve worked really hard, and I know I’m not the best company, and I know I’m your professor and all but it seemed like I ought to give you something for being a good student, like a sticker or something, but stickers are for little kids, and you’re obviously not a kid, and the chocolate was on sale and—um, well. Here.”

And suddenly a small white box with a ribbon is thrust into Alex’s hands, and the Beast is speed-walking in the other direction.

Alex is reeling, both inside and out. A box. Something about him not being a little kid and today was Valentine’s Day and chocolate was on sale and he’s a good student.

The world shatters around him as he unties the ribbon with a shaking hand and opens the box.

It’s chocolate, in the shape of a calculator.

Alex shoves the box and ribbon into his bag and runs the fuck home.

 

*

 

The box is sitting on his nightstand now, white and perfect and glaring. He wants to smash it and kiss it at the same time.

He should probably just eat it, but he can’t. It’s sacred.

He spends the majority of Saturday morning just staring at it, trying to fit the pieces together. The Beast. Chocolate. Him. Student. Professor. Tutoring. On sale. Valentine’s. Calculator.

He wants to throw up and cry and run away. He wants to punch his stomach to get it to settle the fuck down.

He’s not a complete idiot. He knows what’s wrong with him. That doesn’t make it easy. Or right.

He has no idea how to face his professor now.

Fuck.

 

*

 

He almost skips the next lecture but his legs carry him there anyway, on autopilot, and his head is still swimming so it can’t put up much of a fight.

So he sits there, near-catatonic, helplessly watching the Beast do equations on the board and wondering how the hell he got in this deep. He isn’t built for this. Other people fall for their professors, not Alex. He’s always the one to ride off into the sunset, free of obligations. Now he’d rather stick around and help the Beast on his geeky ranch.

He thinks about turning off his phone, but then he remembers his parole and leaves it on. He might get an important call. He thinks about erasing the Beast’s number but he can’t, and for a long time he stares at the Beast’s contact info with his finger poised to strike. It never does.

 _Henry McCoy_. He stares at the name until it’s burned into his retinas. It’s the name of the man he’s fallen in love with.

 

*

 

He screams like a little girl when his phone announces a text from the…from _Henry McCoy._

“Dude, what the fuck?” Sean croaks from his bed, no doubt horrendously hung over.

“Nothing,” Alex squeaks, in a too-high voice he hates. He opens the message with a shaking finger.

 _The Blue Bean at 8_ , it says, and it’s only five words—four, not counting the number 8—but it takes Alex an eternity to read.

“Dude, if you’re up, get me some water?”

“Sure, sure,” Alex mutters, finally closing his phone.

 

*

 

The rest of the week passes by agonizingly slow, and yet too fast, because before Alex knows it his alarm is chirping in his ear and he’s grappling with the nicest pair of jeans and t-shirt he can find—why can’t he have _any_ nice clothes in his closet?—and combing his hair until it’s as neat as it’ll ever be, then bolting out the door like his Converse are on fire.

Doubt cripples him as he approaches the Blue Bean café. He looks ridiculous; he should’ve showered again or iron his fucking _jeans or at least found _something_ better to wear. He’s freezing in the February cold and he knows he’ll look like Rudolph when he goes in and _fuck_ he should’ve gotten the Beast— _Henry_ —something in return. _Shit.__

His professor is there, sitting at one of the corner booths with his bag on the seat next to him, twiddling his thumbs and looking anxious. The way he’s biting his lip is probably just a nervous tic but it makes Alex’s knees weak.

“Hi,” he gasps, still a little out of breath from the run there. He usually went out for morning jogs, but never sprinted for such long distances. “Sorry I’m late.”

The B— _Henry’s_ eyes are wide and blue and surprised. He starts to stand but Alex holds out a hand and seats himself instead.

“You came,” Henry says, then reddens and looks down at the table.

“Of course I did,” Alex says, and immediately feels like kicking himself. “Uh, thanks for the, um. Chocolate. It was good.”

“Oh. Good.” Henry gives him a tiny smile and Alex is glad he’s already leaning against the back of the booth when it sends him reeling.

“I’ll get us coffee,” he chokes out, and bolts from his seat.

“Wait!” And Alex freezes on command. “You don’t have to do that!”

He doesn’t have to fake his grin. “I want to. You got me chocolate. I can at least get you a coffee. What do you want?”

Henry doesn’t say anything for a moment, then shakes himself and looks away. “A caramel macchiato.”

Alex raises his eyebrows. “Same,” he mutters under his breath, and orders two.

When he returns to the table, Henry has a textbook out and is flipping through the pages. “We’re almost done with the book,” he says casually, and Alex thinks he must’ve misheard that disappointment.

“Oh, okay. Here’s your drink, prof.” He slides the Styrofoam cup across the table. Henry catches it with a red face.

“Um, actually, I was thinking. You can probably just call me Hank.”

Alex’s jaw unhinges. “Hank?” he repeats dumbly.

Henry— _Hank,_ now!—nods. “It’s what my friends call me. I’ve always thought it was a little weird that you called me professor, even though we’re pretty much the same age.” He looks up, and Alex smiles despite the stab to the chest that _friends is._

“Hank, huh? Okay, _Hank,_ then you have to call me Alex. ‘Summers’ is getting a little weird, too. Especially since it’s winter.”

Hank nods, and sips his coffee. A few minutes later, they start the tutoring session, discussing parabolas and hyperbolas over a pair of caramel macchiato.

 

*

 

The use of each other’s first names seems to have brought down some kind of barrier, and now Alex and Hank don’t just discuss math. Hank explains why Raven calls herself Mystique, and Hank wrinkles his nose when Alex tells him about Sean and his party-animal tendencies. The weeks fly by with Saturdays filled with stories of how the university’s genetics professor and mechanics professor have been seen together with increasing frequently, both on and _off_ -campus. They talk about everything from Hank’s odd preference for button-downs and Alex’s apparent love of wrinkled jeans to recent conspiracy theories concerning the Cuban missile crisis. Hank even lets Alex in on the story behind his hatred for the pre-calc class: Hank is apparently only teaching it as part of his punishment for accidentally causing an explosion in the lab.

And, eventually, they share their pasts.

It’s a mild April afternoon when it happens, and there’s nothing special about it except that they’ve moved to a hill on-campus that has cherry trees above it, and they watch the storm of pink petals falling to celebrate finishing the entire set curriculum.

“I was in juvie for nearly killing a guy,” Alex says, because everything is just so _perfect_ and he feels grossly out of place on the emerald-green hill with perfect, perfect Hank and the swirling pink around them. “He and this other guy were always taking their shit out on me because…because I was bi.” He swallows hard and refuses to look away from the blue sky above him. “And I got fed up with their bullshit and hit this guy. And I just kept on hitting him. I felt a hell of a lot better afterwards, but…you know. Justice and all.”

Alex doesn’t look at Hank. He doesn’t want to see his reaction.

The sky is the same blue as Hank’s eyes.

“I never stood up to the guys who picked on me,” Hank says quietly, and Alex can’t breathe. “I just let them keep taking advantage of me because I was scared. I was weak. And I…” Alex hears Hank draw in a shuddering breath. “I didn’t really blame _them_. I just figured it was the way things were supposed to be, because I was…different.”

Alex’s heart is thudding in his ears, drowning out everything but the sound of Hank’s voice. “Different?” he echoes, and prays he hasn’t made a mistake.

“I’m gay,” Hank says softly, and Alex is suffocating. “And I…that’s not all.”

“What?” Alex asks desperately, finally looking over. He feels ready to burst at the seams. “What is it?”

Hank won’t look at him. He sits up and takes off his shoe, and all Alex can think is _fuck me they’re huge_ before Hank pulls off his sock and lifts his bare foot, toes splayed, to show Alex.

Hank’s foot is more like a long hand. His big toe comes out of his foot farther down than it should, and all of his toes are longer than they should be.

Alex looks back up at Hank’s face, and the man looks ready to cry.

Alex says nothing, just reaches out and puts a hand on Hank’s shoulder. There’s nothing to say.

Hank stares at him with those big blue eyes and Alex watches as they fill with tears.

And Hank is beautiful. So, so beautiful.

 

*

 

Hank doesn’t show up to their usual place next Saturday, and no matter how many times Alex checks his inbox, there are no messages form him explaining why.

Alex goes home at noon with a cold macchiato and a half-eaten Panini.

 

*

 

Hank doesn’t call the next week, or the week after that, but Alex keeps going to the café out of force of habit, sitting in the corner booth and going over the coursework by himself. He still aces the class; Hank really is a good teacher, when he wants to be.

Eventually Alex stops expecting Hank to call or text. He hates himself for being surprised by all this. Of course Hank wouldn’t want to see him. Of course Hank doesn’t want what Alex wants out of their relationship. Of course Alex is alone again.

Five weeks later, Alex takes the pre-calculus final and is officially done with the class and its professor. He trudges back to his dorm room, and it is then that Alex decides he’s had enough of staring at the white box that’s still perched next to his bed. So he opens the box and takes out the calculator and peels off the plastic wrap, and tries to convince himself to eat the goddamn thing.

He can’t. He still can’t, because this stupid chocolate calculator is the only thing he has left besides the contact in his phone. Because it’s detailed and probably handmade and there is no fucking way any chocolate shop had one of these just lying around for sale, especially one with a function engraved in the input area of its chocolate screen.

It’s an inequality, actually, and Alex decides to solve it, because what else is this calculator good for at this point?

He stares through half-lidded eyes at it and works it out mentally. It’s a stupid little thing, and he assumes he has to solve for “u” because there’s no other letter except “i”, which isn’t actually a variable. 

9x-7i > 3(3x-7u)

9x-7i > 9x-21u

-7i > -21u

7i < 21u 

i < 3u 

Alex drops the calculator. He drops it and fucking _runs._

His professor’s—Beast’s—Henry’s— _Hank’s_ office is still lit up from the inside, and Alex tries the handle. It’s unlocked and he throws himself inside and slams the door behind him, locking it.

Hank is there, sitting at his desk, grading papers, and, now, looking shocked.

“ _Why,_ ” Alex yells. “Why the _fuck_ would you do that! Why would you—you must’ve known— _the calculator_!”

It seems Hank is incapable of anything but staring. Alex growls and moves closer. Silence is no longer an option.

“Did you think it would be funny to mess with me? I didn’t think you were like that. I guess I was wrong, huh? Well _congratu-fucking-lations._ Because now I’m finally done with you and your _stupid fucking class_ and I’ll be out of your perfect hair. I’m erasing your phone number and tossing that fucking calculator out the window as soon as I get back to my room just so I can watch it shatter into a million fucking pieces.” His teeth are bared and his eyes are narrowed and his vision is starting to blur. He swipes furiously at his eyes and scrabbles at the lock, clumsily trying to undo it when he can’t see a fucking thing and his arms are shaking like jackhammers.

“Alex!” Hank says, and he sounds so far away but there’s big warm hands on Alex’s shoulders and someone pressed against his back.

“Go away,” Alex blubbers, sniffling and sobbing and furious. It’s all he knows how to do when he’s hurt: lash out.

“I’m sorry,” Hank says against the back of his head, and his warm breath against Alex’s neck is enough to make Alex crazy.

Before he can stop himself, he’s turned towards Hank and wrapped himself around the taller man. “You left me hanging!” he gasps into the idiotic purple cardigan. He’s too far gone to even care now, and he’s beating against Hank’s back with his fists even as he soaks the front of Hank’s pressed button-down. “You d-didn’t call! Or text, or—or—”

“I’m so sorry,” Hank breathes, and Alex…Alex forgives him. It’s easy, so easy, to just let it all go. Because Hank is holding him now, and all he can feel is Hank, Hank’s arms around him, Hank’s voice whispering apologies in his ear, Hank rubbing his back with those stupidly huge hands of his.

Alex is a string pulled too tight, ready to snap. Because nothing ever goes _this right_ without him fucking everything up.

And when Hank pulls away, finally, Alex is afraid. More afraid than he’s ever been. He’s laid himself completely bare, and if Hank uses this chance to stab Alex in the soft underbelly he’s exposed, Alex is pretty sure he won’t be able to take it.

“I was scared,” Hank says instead, holding onto Alex’s hands and dwarfing them with his own. “I mean, I’ve never…I’ve never let anyone in like that. And I didn’t think you’d be…up for it.”

“ _Up for it,_ ” Alex rasps, throat ruined by his screaming and crying. “ _Up for it._ You didn’t think I’d be _up for it._ ”

Hank nods, looking down. He looks…chastised. But Alex isn’t about to stop. He doesn’t know how.

“Hank. I’ve been ‘up for it’ for _months_ now.” Hank looks up at that, wide-eyed. “I’m in complete fucking love with you. Don’t ask me why. You’re a total uptight nerd, but…you…I just love you. You’re perfect. Even if you are a huge nerd.”

Hank is staring at him open-mouthed, and now it’s Alex’s turn to blush and look away, pressing the side of his face to Hank’s cardigan. 

“Too soon, huh?” he mutters. Another mistake.

“Holy shit,” Hank whispers, and something about the way curses sound on Hank McCoy’s tongue shoots straight down through Alex’s gut.

“Was that a good ‘holy shit’?”

“Yes,” Hank sighs into Alex, pulling him even closer, until there’s no space anywhere in between.

 

*

 

It’s June and Alex is attempting to put the finishing touches on his suit. He’s never been very good with ties, and this one is slippery silk that absolutely refuses to cooperate.

“Hey,” Hank laughs, coming out of the bathroom. He’s already perfectly put-together, and Alex scowls at his boyfriend’s flawless bowtie. “Let me help you with that,” Hank offers, and Alex gives up.

“Fine,” he mutters, tugging his fingers out from the tangled tie. “Whatever. Why do we have to go to this, anyway?”

Hank doesn’t look up from where he’s correcting Alex’s mess of a tie. “Because Professor Xavier was my mentor, and I owe him a lot.”

“And you have to drag me along to this big gay wedding?”

“Okay, look, it’s just a few hours of you sitting pretty in the suit, and then there’ll be food and crazy dancing and whatever. Knowing Charles, there’ll be a lot of booze, too.”

Alex is busy smirking at his boyfriend. “A few hours of me ‘sitting pretty’, huh?”

Hank laughs and wraps his arms around Alex. “Yes. You’re gorgeous and I want you there with me. Besides, where better for us to come out than at a gay wedding?”

Alex grins and nuzzles Hank’s cheek. “As long as I get to get you _out_ of this suit later, I’m fine.”

“Okay,” Hank laughs, and presses a kiss to Alex’s forehead. Alex grabs him by that ridiculous bowtie and pulls him down for a kiss that leaves him flushed and weak-kneed.

“Sure we have to go to that party?” he says huskily. Hank grins, all teeth, and Alex is reminded of how much he _loves_ the fact that his Beast really is one in bed.

“Later,” his boyfriend promises, and gives his lips one last nip before lowering a hand to the small of Alex’s back and steering him out the door.


End file.
